If I were one, O Minstrel wild. That held "the golden cup" Not unto thee, Art's stolen child, My hand should yield it up; Why should I waste its gold on one That holds a guerdon bright-- A chalice, flashing in the sun Of perfect chrysolite. And shaped on such a swelling sphere As if some God had pressed Its flowing crystal, soft and clear On Hebe's virgin breast? What though the bitter grapes of earth Have mingled in its wine? The stolen fruits of heavenly birth Have made its hue divine. Oh, Lady, there are charms that win Their way to magic bowers, And they that weave them enter in In spite of mortal powers; And hearts that seek the chapel's floor Will throb the long aisle through, Though none are waiting at the door To sprinkle holy dew! I, sitting in the portal gray Of Art's cathedral dim, Can see thee, passing in to pray And sing thy first-born hymn;-- Hold out thy hand! these scanty drops Come from a hallowed stream, Its sands, a poet's crumbling hopes, Its mists, his fading dream. Pass on. Around the inmost shrine A few faint tapers burn; This altar, Priestess, shall be thine To light and watch in turn; Above it smiles the Mother Maid, It leans on Love and Art, And in its glowing depth is laid The first true woman's heart! O. W. H. BOSTON, Jan. 1, 1854. This tribute from the beloved Autocrat touched her deeply, the more so that in the "Commonwealth"[35] she had recently reviewed some of his own work rather severely. She made her acknowledgment in a poem entitled "A Vision of Montgomery Place,"[36] in which she pictures herself as a sheeted penitent knocking at Dr. Holmes's door. [35] The _Commonwealth_ was a daily newspaper published in the Anti-Slavery interest. Dr. Howe was one of its organizers, and for some time its editor-in-chief. She says, "Its immediate object was to reach the body politic which distrusted rhetoric and oratory, but which sooner or later gives heed to dispassionate argument and the advocacy of plain issues." She helped the Doctor in his editorial work, and enjoyed it greatly, writing literary and critical articles, while he furnished the political part. [36] Printed in _Words for the Hour_, 1857. I was the saucy Commonwealth: Oh! help me to repent. * * * * * Behind my embrasure well-braced, With every chance to hit, I made your banner, waving wide, A mark for wayward wit. 'Twas now my turn to walk the street, In dangerous singleness, And run, as bravely as I might, The gauntlet of the press. And when I passed your balcony Expecting only blows, From height or vantage-ground, you stooped To whelm me with a rose. A rose, intense with crimson life And hidden perfume sweet-- Call out your friends, and see me do My penance in the street.